


A swirl of smoke

by qBox



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence Barebone Lives, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Graves isn't okay, In a way, M/M, Minor Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves, Newt found the Obscurus and has been trying to help it back, Other, or does he?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-08 22:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11091495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qBox/pseuds/qBox
Summary: The boy’s Obscurus has been docile for several months by the time Newt asks Percival Graves to step inside the case.





	A swirl of smoke

"So, Mr. Scamander. What exactly am I looking at?"

Percival Graves seemed to have aged a few years throughout his unintentional exodus. Though he despite the addition of a cane still carried himself with the same bravado as he had before - and as his impostor too had manage to perfect - the difference was apparent in nearly every other aspect of him. More silver strands that matched the snowy surroundings speckled his otherwise dark hair now than had before, a shade fallen over his eyes that seemed to have removed whatever spark they could have once held.

Trauma that extended to the mind to the point of encompassing it completely was near impossible to fully recover from, Newt knew. How many times had he not seen the same look in the captured creatures he had freed, the glazed-over, thousand-yard stare?

He looked haunted, in a way.

It had, according to Tina, taken several months for Graves to recover enough that he didn't start at any nearby sound - far longer than it had taken him to be able to exit his home - and by that point, he had been “temporarily retired” from his position. Nevertheless, his presence was quite intimidating, and left Newt uneasy, wondering if this had been that great of an idea after all. After all, his impostor had gone unnoticed for some time, and he had condemned Tina and Newt both to death.

Newt had only met the real one a few days ago, at the earliest - how different was this one from the fake?

"Credence Barebone's obscurus…" He wet his lower lip tentatively, eyebrows furrowing as he followed Graves' gaze towards the small, bubbled mass that hung suspended in the air some few metres before them. "Technically."

Inside, the slip of smoke swirled slowly, cautious of the human presences in its vicinity, but not any more affected than it were whenever Newt brought anyone else, or simply came alone. Both Tina and Queenie had come by before, and the same saddening lack of reaction had been the only result, unlike what had been the case with the previous Obscurus he'd housed, which had shrunk away at fear of touch. Even Queenie had solemnly claimed to hear nothing sensible from its direction - not unlike her description of the mind-set of the creatures in the case. No words. Hardly even emotions.

"Technically", the ex-director repeated, voice as deadpan as his facial expression as he turned away from the tarry bundle floating within its protective perimeters, and stared Newt in the face. In the silence, all that seemed to fill the area was the nearly _breathing_ energy the Obscurus emitted.

They weren't exactly of a height, yet despite the constant exhaustion visible in Graves' face, he was an intimidating presence, and Newt had to remind himself for a brief moment that this was not the same man who had once attempted to have Tina and him executed.

Not the same man that Newt had met before.

Newt cleared his throat, opting to again look at the obscurus behind Graves. It was easier.

"You see", he began, "after MACUSA's assault o-"

"To my understanding", Graves interrupted, causing Newt’s mouth to snap shut in surprise, "taking down the obscurus was a necessary means to save many more lives than just that of one boy. It was threatening not only the Statute of Secrecy, but also the population of the city of New York. President Picquery acted according to security regulations, and in the American wizarding society's best interest."

Newt was nowhere near practised in the art of Legilimency, and his understanding of the many-faceted nuances in human socialising had always been flawed at best. Even so he suspected that those were just empty words, spoken as though carefully repeated. He'd heard his brother speak enough of those to recognise that act. It came with the political status, Newt suspected.

"Tina Goldstein was very close to soothing him at the time the Aurors interfered", he mumbled.

Graves’ stare seemed to pierce through Newt's core.

"And so perhaps would Gellert Grindelwald, had he been given enough time", he said sharply, the furrowed brow shading his eyes further. "And if he had, he would have been in control of the most powerful Obscurus to date, isn't that true?"

Reluctantly, Newt nodded a solemn yes.

Grindelwald had been unsettlingly close to calming Credence down, for a man who allegedly set him off as well. Newt could not claim to fully know what happened - he didn't _know_ Credence, per-say, and the short meeting they had had in physical form past the experience in the subway station didn’t leave much time for conversation. He didn't _know_ exactly what relationship the boy had with the man that had pretended to be Percival Graves, nor with the real man himself. It was mainly an assumption Tina and he had made that the two knew each other _somehow_ , at this point.

"And speaking of it being so strong", Graves continued, stern enough that Newt felt himself shrink before him. "Exactly why are _you_ keeping it?"

Perhaps it was due to the same lack of understanding of other humans, but Newt had never felt as uneasy before even a Nundu as he did before the viciously imposing shape of Percival Graves. He didn't take too well to responding even to hints of aggressiveness if he could avoid it.

With the Nundu, at least he knew _how to_ avoid it.

"See, Scamander” Graves continued coldly. “I read the reports. I am aware that they found another of them while investigating your case at Woolworth - another Obscurus. It's interesting how you have now found yourself with a second one... specifically one capable of such a destructive force."

Clenching his jaw, Newt forced himself to straighten his back again, finally meeting the man's eyes.

"I am _studying_ _it_ , Mr. Graves", he said, not quite as harshly as he would have liked to. "I was studying both of them - the one your ministry confiscated and kept was the Obscurus of a Sudanese girl I failed to save, and this one to a young man who was shot down before it could truly kill him. Obscuri are not a thing of the past just yet, Mr. Graves, and next time I come across an Obscurial, I would hope I _can_ save them somehow."

There was a gentle silence following his words, as though Graves actually took in what he had said, and that was enough of a relief to soften his tone as he continued, gazing over towards the swirling orb afloat behind the ex-director.

"Besides, as for Credence's Obscurus - it took his shape before me, once, before it reverted to this form, so-"

"Are you saying tha---" Graves interrupted, then immediately went stiff and looked away from him, towards the restlessly swirling smoke that still showed no interest in their conversation. His skin seemed to have greyed. " _Is it_ the Barebone boy?"

And that was The Question, wasn't it? What Newt was also trying to find out, in a way, and couldn't quite be certain of since the Obscurus refused to cooperate even in the slightest, showing no signs of self-preservation – as though it had quietly resigned to its situation.

"Possibly, but uh, also not entirely."

"Start making sense, Scamander. Fawley might not be so well inclined to have you back in the ministry if he knew you were housing a condemned criminal."

Newt held back a sigh, certain it wouldn't help him in the long run to show that the man's attitude bothered him. Besides, he couldn't be entirely certain Minister Fawley would indeed be alright with him keeping Obscuri - among other creatures deemed practically illegal to house - in his case, nor the boy himself if he was still salvageable. Credence Barebone, despite his Obscurus being the cause, still had others’ blood on his hands, after all. While Graves was no longer _director_ Graves, he couldn't exclude the possibility that people still held his word in respect.

However, after Grindelwald's sullying of the grand family's name, perhaps that wasn't as true as it could be. After all, even Newt still found it hard to separate the man he'd met, the one that tried to have him executed, from the tired wizard before him.

Especially when he glowered like that.

Newt was however not planning on taking any chances and risking his neck just because of a threat he wasn't sure was legitimate or not – not when more important things were on the line. He knew that even if Graves' family name might have been sullied as of late, and even if Graves had been demoted, he was still a man people naturally listened to and wanted on their side. He’d have to assume they still did.

And right now, Newt needed him to be on his.

"It is possible the Obscurial and Obscurus have merged in the opposite fashion from before", he explained. "The body used to be a husk protecting the parasite within it, one that the obscurus would do anything to protect in turn - even remain in this less physical state. It is also possible that Credence himself is the one who refuses to revert back to his own body."

Maybe he was mistaken, but he thought he saw a muscle twitch in the man's jaw, his eyes softening ever so slightly for just a moment. When he spoke, however, any trace of it was gone.

"What are the odds of that, Scamander?"

"High", Newt said.

It wasn't true.

It was equally possible Credence was far beyond saving, but from what he'd understood from Tina, the boy deserved his every attempt. And how likely was Graves to agree if the possibility was hardly there at all? He couldn't know. Perhaps the two _had_ only met in passing, at best.

Graves sighed, his lips twisting around a grimace Newt couldn't place, and pushed the heal of his hand to his temple, rubbing it softly for a solid minute.

"Where do _I_ fit into the equation?" he asked.

"I... we figured you could help." He licked his lips again, giving the distant Obscurus another glance. Still no reaction. "If it notices _your_ presence, he might react to it, since he knew you, and... _such_. And then, we might get some idea of how to best return him to his physical self, in the long run. That... is the plan."

Graves stiffened where he stood at the mention of his assumed relationship with the boy from before Grindelwald's impersonation, implications unspoken locking him in place like invisible chains. _A-ha_ , Newt found himself thinking, curiously observing the inner battle his visitor seemed to fight.

"Merlin, Scamander, why on earth would my presence help him in the least?" the ex-director finally growled, a noise coming from deep within his throat. "I had _barely_ met the boy!"

But Newt had seen the worry and concern, and if there was one emotional state that humans shared with animals, one state that was pure and non-layered and not at all difficult to distinguish, it was fear. And of course Graves would be fearful.

"Mr Graves, with all due... respect." In the privacy of his own mind Newt thought of Jacob, thought of the indescribable look in his eyes before he'd made himself step into the rain to have his memories were taken from him, thought of Queenie's shuddering shoulders and downcast eyes as they left the stairs behind. How many wizards and witches had been forced to separate from friends made that happened to be born without magic in their veins? And how dangerous would it have been for a man of Graves' position to be caught _fraternising_ with the Barebone boy, when all thought him a non-wizard? "I am fully aware that your society here has stricter restrictions on muggle associations, but, even if you were to break that... old law of yours..."

"Rappaport's law", Graves bitterly filled in, brow low and arms folded. It may have been meant to seem strong and fearless, but ended up as its opposite, as though he wanted to protect himself.

What an outdated rule, yet what a powerful one to bring so many to their knees before it - and to such extreme a length they utilised it, too.

"Mm", Newt confirmed. "Even if you had even considered breaking it, in _any_ way, not knowing Credence wasn't a muggl- a non-wizard, I would not hold it against you. It's none of my concern to be honest. All I want to do is see if I can bring him back from this state... I simply believe that you might be the most likely to stir him."

And any reaction was better than none.

"…I had met him a few times, yes", Graves finally said, jaw tight and eyes distant. "You're correct, I thought him a No-Maj, or a squib at best - he seemed so perceptive, after all, despite pretending not to be. Yet he was a _Barebone_ , after all - history has not given us any faith in that family's bloodline. Even if he were a squib, it would not be appropriate... But all those things that woman had _beat_ into him..."

He grew quiet for a bit, his voice having turned more passionate than previously, and Newt eyed him with concern and intrigue both. He wished that Queenie would have been there, to interpret what relationship the two had had, but instead he was left to his own, flawed guesswork.

 _Closer than allowed_ , was all he could gather and it didn't really say much.

"Credence was terrified at the notion of magic at first", the ex-director eventually continued, a bitter grin tugging at his lips. "His wretched mother had instilled all of these ideas about witchcraft being equal to _devil worship_ in his head, but still he… He was a more curious child than she would have allowed. To think that all that time--" Graves silenced himself again, shook his head, and cleared his throat. "Either way, I thought he could be a good informant within the Barebone family. They may not be quite as prominent anymore, but they have been known to cause us trouble for generations. And the boy, in turn, had some variation of a... a father figure."

Definitely closer than allowed, Newt could imagine, if friendships such as theirs with Jacob was past the limits.

"So out of the lot of us that tried, you may have known him the best", Newt interjected, almost hurriedly before Graves would change his mind. "Which is why, if anyone, he might recognise _you_."

The man let out a deep sigh - one that wasn't audible but sure evident in his slowly slouching shoulders and lowered head - and lingered observing the Obscurus irresolutely. His hands opened and closed at the sides.

"What do you want me to do with it?"

Newt blinked, thinking it had been obvious.

"Just... talk?" he suggested. "Don't worry. I'll give you some privacy, to make it less awkward."

He nearly expected another growled response to that, an angry lashing about this or that, but none came. Instead, Graves nodded stiffly.

"Alright. How likely is it that it lashes out at me?"

Newt couldn't say for sure, of course, given that the smoke had remained in suspended silence for months on end, unmoving, and given that the last time Credence had met a man bearing Graves' face, it had been a fake trying to _use_ him for his own benefit. It was highly possible the reaction could be aggressive, if anything - Newt nearly counted on it.

Anything was better than nothing, after all.

"You'll be just fine", he opted to answer instead of giving out percentages, and instead of stating claims he couldn't give any basis. He earned another sigh in response as Graves took a few steps towards the sphere before he ceased to move again.

"It _can't_ harm anyone from in there, can it?" Graves gave a nod in the Obscurus' direction, eyes glancing back towards Newt from where he'd stopped, leaning much too heavily on the cane.

"It is safe in there", Newt confirmed. So it was supposed to be after all, even though the docile Obscurus hadn't made any attempts at testing the strength of the barriers. "Although if something does happen, you can just... call me over, Mr Graves. And, it's probably in your best interest not to attack it, if so."

 

*

 

"This is ridiculous", Graves mumbled to himself, breaking himself out of hesitation's claws and approaching the suspended Obscurus.

The impact they had had on history and the exaggerated retellings of old wives' tales alike had informed him what dangerously insidious sources of pure power these could be, and although Newt Scamander ensured him yet again from over by the curtain-wall that marked the exit that the Obscurus was perfectly safe within its bubble, Graves couldn't be too cautious. Carefully observing its swirling movement, seemingly uninterrupted by his arrival, he stopped yet again, close enough to easily touch it were he to give that a try.

It was a fascinating sight, the ex-director had to admit - the swirling tendrils seemed to pulse not unlike veins, flecks of deep burgundy sprinkled throughout it that moved equally slowly. Although restless, it appeared nearly docile to his presence.

Was this what the Barebone boy had been reduced to - a lingering mass of hurt, oblivious to all that surrounded it? Graves could recall all too well the shivering boy with his threadbare clothes and downcast eyes, the shoulder hunched up around a face that could have had plenty a witch swoon were he ever to raise it.

A face that had done things to Graves in Graves’ private mind he would rather nobody knew.

A boy that had brought a top-ranking wizard to, against his better judgement, risk his position to visit and cautiously care for. The look of awe on Credence's face at the sight of a full meal; the willingness with which he'd tell his benefactor any of his mother's suspicions in return for a measly hint of the existence of _something more_ than the dismal life he'd been given; the trust he'd put in a Mr Graves he barely knew - and Graves had failed him.

"Oh, _Credence_ ", he mumbled, raising his free hand towards the Obscurus, wondering absently what it would feel like if he were to touch it. It seemed foolish to try. The protective sphere around it seemed meant to stop it from exiting after all, and he assumed the opposite was equally true, for everyone's safety. "Why didn't I see it...?"

The Magic lingering in his veins that Graves had taken first for the old Barebone bloodline making itself visible, and then after reminding himself the child was adopted had thought an obvious hint of him being a squib. He should have known, he should have thought about it what with the increase in unexplained activity... but an Obscurus grew from magic so suppressed it could no longer be called upon.

Had this darkness been threatening to take over the boy even as they begun meeting in secret in the alleys? Was he already doomed since before the Barebone bitch had taken him in? Or was she and her endless abuse the cause for it?

"To have the tenacity to survive something like this for so long, Credence… you could have turned into such an _incredible_ wizard", he continued, more to himself rather than to the Obscurus he hardly believed could hear him. It felt nearly as though his monologue was excuses meant only for his own benefit, rather than the boy he referred to. It must have helped - he even smiled. "Too late for Ilvermorny, sadly, but I could have taught you some essentials. I'm not much of a teacher, but..."

Within the bubble, the smoke stirred.

Graves blinked, freezing momentarily before he looked over his shoulder to glance for Scamander, who shone with his absence behind him. Perhaps he had gone to feed one of his dozens of critter, Graves assumed with but a hint of stressed bitterness, and turned back towards the mass, now swirling faster, bubbling. The ethereally breathing noise that surrounded it had become sharper, a well-nigh hiss reverberating through his bones.

Was it _listening_ to him? Graves wet his lips cautiously, moving his raised hand closer yet, feeling the magic of the protective barrier tickle his skin, and saw it flinch, churning around itself, deep darkness flecked with angry red pulses of light from within.

He swallowed.

"Credence?" he asked, and saw it twist in on itself, the hiss louder, sharper as it shrunk away from his hand, avoiding his body as far as it could. "Can you ... hear me, my boy?"

Another jerking motion, then a third, and Graves realised that the Obscurus before him was slowly growing, its wisps of oily smoke writhing until the inner walls couldn't stretch to contain anything larger, the perimeters stretching taut and strained against the pressure but not giving in.

Graves was out of breath.

"Credence", he whispered again, his voice now barely audible from the tremble that broke through it. His hand had moved on instinct to his wand, but he didn't draw it, reminding himself that Scamander specifically requested him not to attack. "My boy, I’m---"

The growl exploded into an unearthly scream, the tendrils and grains giving shape to a gaping mouth from whence it came, contorted in pain, in anguish, in rage, then forming to take on the face of a young man whose cheeks Graves had once held in the palms of his hands, whose forehead he'd once given the solace of his shoulder.

Credence had been so timid then, terrified of the world and what it could do to him - hiding in on himself to avoid being seen, like a turtle searching the safety of its shell. Despite his best interests and intentions, Graves had grown protective of him, wanting to fill him with enough courage to straighten that bent-over backbone again, to see those dark eyes directed towards himself instead of the gravel beneath his feet that they always seemed locked upon.

There was no such timidity left in this sight; it brimmed with power overflowing, bright white eyes pinning Graves down as his judge, jury and executioner, practically blinding him in their intensity. The hollow, endless shriek from its gaping mouth filled Graves' ears, his throat, his chest. It grabbed onto and constricted his lungs like a fist, the taste of bile in his throat. He stumbled backwards away from it, covering his ears and soon finding himself on the ground fallen from his bad leg as the cane had fallen from his hands. He heard it land somewhere in the back of his mind, a sharp clattering noise that he couldn't be bothered with.

Damned be his own awful decisions. He had known he shouldn't have followed Scamander into his bag of beasts. He'd known it could only end in trouble when Tina Goldstein had practically begged him to go down into it despite his better judgement. He should have gone back home to his new apartment, and remained within it for the rest of eternity. Yet here he was, fallen in the artificial snow. Damned be his stiff knee and Grindelwald's ambush and his colleagues' blindness.

The boy was right to show him this fury, although damned be it also, in its intensity. But Graves knew he shouldn't have gotten so close to the boy, he should have expected the ambush, he should have, _he should have he should have heshouldhave---_

But there was a _difference_ the shrieking cloud couldn't be expected to know nor distinguish, and so Graves got to his knees, hands raised in submission before what once had torn through a vast stretch of buildings throughout New York City not unlike the vicious intensity of a natural disaster.

"Forgive me, Credence", he pleaded in the hope that he was still there, still _aware_ , while trying fruitlessly to drown out the scream via his own voice, still worn from the last week's disuse. "It wasn't-"

A hand shoved hard against the inside of the protective barriers.

Its appearance made him back up, his own hands searching for the cane without his eyes ever leaving the disembodied sight before him; thin, pale, long fingers and a torn-up palm pressed against the inside of the sphere, pushing at the borders to stretch them, scratching at the walls to break free. While it seemed impossible, what skin had been momentarily visible was overtaken by the oily smoke again and the long fingers grew sharp and claw-like.

A true form.

This wasn’t Credence anymore.

Graves found the cane and pulled it close, pushing himself to his feet. _It wasn't my fault_ , he wanted to claim, but it was, wasn't it?

He was out of breath, and backing away from the raging Obscurus was a harder on his legs and focus than it should have been, but he didn't dare turn his back on it. Clearly, it did not appreciate him being there. This was unsafe for both of them, and he couldn't blame Credence for the fury that lingered in what had been hidden within him for so long.

To blame was MACUSA who had abandoned a magical child before he'd even gotten a chance to make use of his abilities. To blame was Grindelwald who'd hurt him who-knows-how.

And most to blame Graves who hadn't been able to keep himself professional and uninvested, but instead unwittingly made the boy a target. Another mistake that others suffered the backwash from. His faults were too many - the attack on Credence Barebone, Grindelwald's successful infiltration, the limp bodies of his fellow Aurors strewn around him in the grass, their eyes staring into stars for eternity.

Guilt overtook and encompassed his entire being, making his muscles and head sear as though he'd been hit with the most powerful Cruciatus curse. He couldn't stay in this space, it was too tight; he couldn't breathe.

Scamander had been wrong to think there was any way Graves could help the poor boy - just as Graves had been himself once. Just a fine _father figure_ he had turned out to be, and what a lie that claim had been as well. With the last of his control he turned, and refused to look behind himself, refused to gaze upon the result of his mistakes. He left the room, its icy insides quickly exchanged for the lukewarm farmland environment the brit had charmed up around the high rickety shed through which they'd entered.

Scamander startled at the sound of him coming through and let go of the handles of a wheelbarrow he was pushing, coming up closer. Graves realized he was going to ask what he happened, but why the fuck did he need to do that anyway, wasn't it audible? Why hadn't he stepped in? His tongue felt like a heavy rock in his mouth.

"I'm leaving", was all he said as he stomped past Scamander on the way towards the shed.

"Mr Graves-" Scamander sounded like he was about to say something else, following him towards the door, and he just shook his head.

"No." He pushed his way through the door. He couldn't, he needed to go home.

"But Mr Graves, you have to understand", Scamander chased after him into the shed, but didn't grab him even though Graves was nearly certain he would, and he wanted to hiss _I swear if you touch me I’ll send you flying_. Instead Scamander stopped, hesitating beneath the ladder Graves grumblingly attempted at climbing. "This outburst, it's a good thing, it's..."

"It's an _Obscurus_!" Graves barked back, ignoring the image of the face within the smoke, and the hand. He stared down from his higher position, pausing. "There is nothing left to save."

As he exited the case, he pretended that he didn't hear the scream end in a echoing whine, even as it send shudders down his spine.

 

*

 

Not long after the ex-director had left, Newt watched the oily smoke of the Obscurus curl back into a smaller size, with an almost triumphant smile spreading his lips. He moved a tentative hand to rest it in the air by the sphere, but to his disappointment he was left without any further reaction from the obscurus.

"You're still there, aren't you, Credence?" he asked, barely louder than a breath. “Graves doesn’t dare to see it.”

He wasn't too upset about not getting a response - there had been some kind of reaction, after all, and he felt a surge of excitement at the thought. A very, very strong reaction. He'd heard the shriek from the other side of the case, but it must have been something more to it to cause such a panicked look in the ex-director's haunted eyes. He wished Graves had stayed long enough to explain what it had been, but that could wait.

A reaction. After so many months. He couldn’t wait to inform Tina of this headway, and see what they would do from here on out. One approach seemed certain, however.

He'd have to convince Percival Graves to come back, and see how things developed.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble I didn't think I'd finish writing and yet here we are? It could possible be continued but I can't make any promises on this one :D  
> Again, English is not my native language so if the language seems odd at times, I am so so sorry


End file.
